Feeding the Strays
by Fogs of Gray
Summary: He should have learned enough in his thirty odd years to know better. Honestly, letting a burglar into his house wasn't the smartest of things, but neither was falling in love with her.
1. Chapter 1

It's a bit late for Valentine's Day, but I figured I'd try my hand in a bit of romance between Scarface and Leah. Have pity on me? Same crime!AU I seem to be running on, currently, different interpretation of it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this, these characters are from Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl

* * *

Rule number one of being a professional criminal: Always be ready to leave at a moments notice.

Packed bags, passports, money—no personal belongings left behind. Stripping an apartment, a shack, a shed, shouldn't take longer than fifteen minutes. Anything left behind should be safe for burning. Now, a known criminal, or, at least, someone who was rarely on the _right _side of anything, should never have to use this rule, if they're careful enough.

This time, Leah drew the short straw. In all reality, she shouldn't have been caught. She wasn't idiotic; the disguise had been fantastic—they had spent half an hour patting charcoal around her jaw, pinning her hair to be elaborately hidden under a cap she stole from some kid, and finding a loose enough shirt to hide what bindings couldn't eliminate. Macon himself had read her lines; when it was all finished, the Cast lent Macon's voice to her. She shouldn't have been caught.

She had, for some reason she couldn't fathom. Given, the charcoal stubble only worked if the lighting was dim enough, but the bar hadn't been the most legal of places. The lack of lighting, as well as her strategic position in the corner of the bar, caused enough shadows that Leah had been convinced she didn't need the coal.

By now, though, she had cursed Macon five times over. Someone had noticed the catch in her borrowed voice, someone had noticed enough to actually _care_, and she was suddenly thrown against a wall. The person behind her, some brute who speech slurred and hands were rough, snickered something in her ear, but she muttered her way through her last resort, Traveling.

If she ended up in the middle of nowhere, she didn't mind. If she didn't have time to burn the shed she had called home for the last week, it wasn't horrible. The Caster—he could have been an Incubus, now that she thought about it—wouldn't think of using petty things to track her, like a piece of her hair, a fingernail. She hoped he wasn't that brand of criminal. She took a deep breath.

All that mattered was that her hands were still tied, the moon was still high, her cover was blown, and a certain someone had foolishly left their light on. The same idiot somehow managed to leave their door unlocked.

* * *

Effingham was the kind of town the rest of the country tends to forget. The Lynches River passed through the southern region, near the hiking trails, the library was decent, and the movie theater sometimes would have an organist come in on the weekends to play for twenty minutes before each film.

Ludovic had to drive at least an hour if he wanted to find any store that was a chain. The movies were never current.

He loved it.

It was a Sunday night—normally, Ludovic tried to be in bed by ten—but he'd let himself be caught up in his latest project—repairing the latest rusted vehicle to come to his garage—when he heard his front door open. He only cared, fleetingly; not because it was accompanied by footsteps—he wasn't the most social of creatures, however sometimes customers took it upon themselves to enter his home—but because it was eleven-thirty at night.

He was on his feet, though, trying to be quiet even though every breath from him sounded like a bomb going off. He listened carefully to the clamor, padded into his bedroom, and grabbed his pistol from his nightstand. _Move to a small town, _they'd said. _It'll be less stressful, _they said. Things like this never happened in Effingham. There was a clatter in the main foyer. People didn't get robbed, not in small towns, and especially not Ludovic's house.

Ludovic kept his finger on the trigger, his knuckles white as he crept down the hall. A thin form leaned against his counter, too thin; gods, the person must have been barely old enough to drink. Ludovic could see the kid had some stubble, at least a generous shadow, and a fob chain glinted in the dim light. The kid fumbled with one of Fitz's tools, cursing under his breath.

The kid didn't intimidate Ludovic. He was an adult, definitely taller and heavier than whoever was stumbling in his kitchen, and the scar splitting his cheek was menacing enough. Ludovic took a breath and prepared to utter something intimidating, something that brought out his eastern European accent, when the kid turned his attention to Ludovic. He swallowed his words; his tongue stalled and pressed against his teeth instead of spouting the monologue he had planned. A gun pointed steadily at him. He didn't look like the desperate, on-edge criminal Ludovic wanted him to be. If anything, he was laid back, his dark eyes staring intently at Ludovic.

"An unloaded pistol, eh? I didn't know that was considered as a security measure." The gun remained steadily pointed at Ludovic's thudding heart. "Put it down."

Ludovic couldn't move. He couldn't help thinking how, in the movies, disarming someone appeared far easier than this. If he made it out alive, he swore to take kickboxing, anything to help with the physical aspect of this.

The kid—he couldn't be older than twenty-two, tops—narrowed his eyes when Ludovic didn't immediately comply. "I'm going to repeat myself, only because I'm guessing this is the first time someone's pointed a gun at you."

"Okay." Ludovic's voice wavered. He held the pistol in one hand, keeping his other hand out, fingers spread. "Okay, I'll just—I'll just put it down." Ludovic's legs shook as he put the gun on the floor. The kid smiled prettily.

"Good. Kick it over to me." Ludovic obeyed, the kid took the pistol, and tossed it out the front door. Ludovic thought maybe the Colt would go away after that, but it stayed tracking him. Ludovic took a deep breath, struggling to calm down, and that was when he took in the big picture.

The kid was skinny, and he had—well, he had Ludovic's bolt cutters in hand. His wrists—oh gods, his wrists—were bleeding badly. Nothing that would kill him, probably, but it was obvious that the skin was raw underneath and had only gotten worse. On the ground glimmered two silver half circles—and Ludovic realized, belatedly, they were handcuffs cut in half, and that was when the kid used one hand to finish off the other cuff on his left hand. The bolt-cutter nicked the inside of the skin before it cut through the metal.

There was dirt on the kid's face, probably from the woods, wherever he came from. Ludovic lived miles away from…well, everyone. The mud—Ludovic hoped the dark stain was mud instead of blood—spread up on the kid's pants, on his sleeves. He went to wipe his still bleeding wrists on his pants and Ludovic's hand flew out.

"Don't!" The gun didn't go off, the kid's grip didn't falter, but his eyes did widen. "It'll get infected."

The kid grinned, his eyes still stern. "No offense, but it's not your problem. I'm going get out of…" the kid stumbled, faltered, "wherever this is, and you're going to go back to sleep, and tomorrow you're going to do whatever it is people do for fun out here." The kid sighed and ran his wrist under the sink water. Ludovic tried not to be concerned with the crimson.

Ludovic's heart pounded in his chest, and what the kid was saying made sense. Hell, he was a criminal. Ludovic should be glad that kid wanted to get out of his house as soon as possible.

But Ludovic couldn't help thinking of the neighbor kids, the ones who ran to him when their parents car started smoking or who relied on him to fix their bicycles. "I have a first aid kit. I'll go get it, it's in the bathroom—"

"I'm coming with you." Ludovic thought the short walk to the bathroom would take an hour, slowly inching forward with a gun pressed against his back. Instead, it was almost normal, the kid keeping his distance but never putting down the weapon. Ludovic grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink quickly.

"There's more room in the kitchen." His voice didn't shake this time.

"Fantastic," the kid smiled easily, "lead the way."

It was midnight when they sat down at the table. The kid put his gun away with a cocky smirk as he drawled, "I don't have to say something along the lines of _'don't try anything'_, right?"

Ludovic took the kid's hands into his own instead of answering. He pushed up his own shirtsleeves and assessed the damage. The cuts were raw, not deep, and, surprisingly, there wasn't a shiver in the kid's system when he grabbed for the alcohol. He easily poured alcohol onto cotton balls and glanced up at the kid. "This is going to sting." The kid didn't say anything, but when Ludovic's hand pressed against his skin to flush out the wounds he hissed, his shoulders jumped. Ludovic whispered a litany of, "I know, I know," under his breath but kept at it, making sure to get all the dirt out before moving to the other hand. When he was done he wrapped the kid's wrists in gauze. He finished off the smaller cuts with Band-Aids. The kid raised a delicate eyebrow at the pink gingham pattern on them.

"You have children?"

"What?" Ludovic hiccupped, dropping the kid's arm. "No, no—well, I have students, sometimes I call them my kids, but most teachers do—but I don't have kids—kids, someday, hopefully, but not today. No kids."

It was a miracle Ludovic hadn't gotten himself shot already.

There was a brief moment of silence that seemed to last forever, but then the kid laughed, quiet like bells, wiping his eyes as he settled down.

"Yeah well, it's a good thing not to rush. A handsome guy like you must be beating those women away with a stick." He winked, and Ludovic knew he was blushing, he could feel it. Judging by the kid's smirk, Ludovic's cheeks were scarlet.

* * *

The gingham Band-Aids were sweet, in an adorable way. Leah rubbed them absentmindedly and enjoyed watching the man squirm. He was an idiot. An attractive idiot in an "I'm a fiscally responsible adult who has pink Band-Aids" way.

Leah pulled her sleeves down and stretched. "All right, thanks for that—I'm going to get out of here."

"Uh—" Leah stopped and shot a glance at the man. For someone who wanted her to leave, he was fairly interesting in not having her leave his property. "It's just—it's dark. And I live miles away from everyone. Unless… are you really familiar with this area?"

Leah shifted, uncomfortable. "Well, my brother used to live somewhere around here—"

"Where?"

"By the river—why—"

"That's on the opposite side of town, doll."

There was a silence, because Leah had slipped again and should have checked, should have remembered. She had lost track of her lies again. Macon wouldn't have stood for the ramble of a shack by the river; hell, a few blankets might still be on its floor, marked with her stitching. She was out of immediate danger, of course. Hells, she doubted Hunting's men had even recognized her, but, still, it was sloppy. She was losing it. As she berated herself internally, she noticed that the man, her sort-of-not-really-hostage, was staring at her.

"I can make something to eat, if you're hungry." It had been a while since Leah had been as scared as this man probably was. She had forgotten the flustered things people said; the man's face was still flushed. Leah usually didn't take pity on people, but she figured she'd give him a pass.

"Sounds lovely—" The man stood up immediately, making Leah go back to being armed in less than a second. The man's hands shot up, he jumped backwards, and his back slammed against cupboards. It must have hurt, judging by his wince. Leah should never have put her gun away. She kept it trained on the man's chest, making sure to school her expression calm.

"Do you…do you like pasta?" His eyes focused Leah's gun; she lowered it to aim at his stomach.

"What kind?" Half an hour later, Leah was digging into some of the most delicious penne she'd ever had, which included Macon's cooking. Leah put down her gun to eat and struggled not to moan at the flavor. The man ate, as well, but he talked more than he had the entire evening. His name was Ludovic Fitzwilliam; he was a high school teacher who specialized in mechanics, the scar was from a mugger in the city, the reason he moved to Effingham, and he learned his impeccable cooking skills from an ex-girlfriend. He wore contacts but had a back-up pair of glasses. Also, he seemed to hate most trucks, except Fords, which was another mistake Leah somehow managed to make.

Fitz pushed up the sleeves on his cardigan and ran his fingers through his hair. He was talking about vent seals, counter shafts, and bearings—none of which Leah would remember later, but it didn't matter. Fitz could have lapsed into tongues for all Leah cared; what was getting Leah's attention was the light flush to his cheeks and the shine in his eyes. She wanted to ruin him. Leah was almost startled at how fast her blood went from cool to fire-hot. She liked to think she didn't have a type, that she'd figure it out when she needed to. Fitz's whole pure-as-the-driven-snow personality was certainly making Leah wonder.

Fitz kept talking. Leah bit the inside of her own cheek to bring herself back into reality.

Rule number two of being a professional criminal: Don't flirt with a hostage.

Leah told herself laughing at Fitz's enthusiasm wasn't breaking the second rule. It wasn't. She was still in control.

* * *

When Ludovic was small enough to not be paralyzed by fear, he would often be scolded for feeding strays. He didn't think of them as that, of course. They were lost, that was all. Eventually, his mother tried to sit him down, her smile kind but stern. "Ludovic, you don't want strays sticking around. They only bring trouble."

It wasn't that Ludovic didn't understand the dangers. He understood the risk quite well; once, a dog _had_ bit him, and he'd lost count of the number of cats that scratched his arms. He would see a dog, though, with visible ribs, and, all of a sudden, he didn't need his lunch. His stomach curled at the thought. He would feed his sandwich to the mutt, instead. Somehow, that much made the day a little better. Ludovic's criminal guest called himself Liam. It might have been a fake name, but it was better than calling him "kid" in his head all the time. Liam seemed to think Ludovic's babbling was rather hilarious as he spread out a map across the table, if he could trust the gleam of a smile offered.

"My road goes on for four miles." Ludovic rubbed his eyes, yawning. "You take this all the way to the Interstate." He eyed Liam, who didn't seem tired at all. "You…you can drive, right?"

Liam smiled. "Don't worry." He leaned over the map, his arm brushing Ludovic's shoulder as Ludovic struggled to not feel like the world's oldest man. "All right, on your road, who's the most annoying?"

"What…who is—why?"

Liam grinned again, and Ludovic hated how absolutely charming it was. "Well, either I steal your car, and you don't get to your class on time, or I pick a random house on your street and steal their car, which could bum out a perfectly decent person." He leaned back and tilted his head, adjusted his cap. "Or, you can tell me someone who's an asshole on your street so I can steal their car."

Ludovic opened his mouth, denial on his tongue. Liam drummed his fingers against the table. "You've ten seconds. Sun's coming up; I need a car. I don't want to ruin some family's day because _someone_ didn't have the courage to make a—"

"Here." Ludovic's chest was tight as he pointed to the house five down from him. "This one." The house belonged to the funeral director. Fitz owed him a practically new car, anyway. It wouldn't be difficult to find him a used hearse, remodel the engine, and return it. Hells, it'd probably be less of an investment. Liam studied it quizzically, repeated the exact address when Ludovic told it to him, and, then, clapped his hands together.

"Got it." Ludovic watched as the dark sky began to get hints of a lighter blue. The sun hadn't technically risen yet, but it was light enough out, a frigid mist crept over the hills. The screech of the chair being pushed back made Ludovic's leg jump. Liam stood and tore at his own shirt, exposing the soft plane of his abdomen as his pants slipped down.

Liam cleared his throat. Ludovic's day couldn't possibly get worse, and that was when he saw Liam toying with the long strip of his own shirt. "Think of this like hide and seek. Count to one-hundred, and then you can take this off." Ludovic straightened in his chair as Liam stepped between his legs and tied the cloth around his eyes. He could feel Liam's legs brush against the inside of his thighs. His breath was on Ludovic's cheek as the cloth tightened around his eyes. "I don't want to shoot you. You've been an idiotically gracious host. Please, get some locks for your door."

Liam retreated, his steps soft against Ludovic's floor. Within seconds, Liam was out of the door.

* * *

When Liam finally pulled off the blindfold, he had about fifteen minutes to get ready for school. There was ten thousand dollars stacked neatly on his kitchen table.

It wasn't a mistake. Liam was young, but he didn't seem like the type of kid to just leave money. Between his own hopes and the sprig of bluebells, he hoped it was more than a coincidence.

Ludovic hid it in the back of his closet, in a shoebox.

* * *

Ludovic didn't usually go to bars—the noise and crowding made his nerves itch—but it was a colleague's birthday. She was charming enough, he supposed. She dropped off cookies whenever she passed his house, which seemed more frequent than necessary or plausible.

Her name was Janine. The neighborhood kids seemed to think the two of them would make a decent pair; the sentiment moved up into their parents, as well. Ludovic would smile and laugh it off, but, if he was being honest, the people's insistence made him uncomfortable. He supposed it was a small-town thing.

He excused himself, pulled on his coat and scarf. Janine, whose cheeks were flushed, grabbed his arm. Another drunken insistence fell from her lips. Ludovic forced a grin, and gently pulled away. "I have quizzes to grade. I'll see you Monday."

With a final wave to everyone, Ludovic left, bundled up, and headed to his car. He wondered if, maybe, he was being too harsh, that maybe he should just…go out with Janine.

Even though anytime he thought about the concept of dating, his thoughts lurched to the morning he was blindfolded by a kid who couldn't have known what he was doing, but whose fingers were entirely too sure. Ludovic pulled into his driveway to see that another car was already in his spot under the oak tree, and someone was nested on his porch. He turned off his truck, wondering if one of his neighbors had a broken laptop or a stranger's engine wouldn't turn over—which was when he saw the glint of an easy-going smirk that had been haunting him for months.

"Hey, Fitz." Liam was in a sweater, he must have been cold, but he didn't let it show. He was still far too skinny, and Liam's heart thudded in his chest.

"Hello." His grip tightened on his keys, slid them between his fingers as a blade.

Liam seemed to read his mind; he waved him forward with an easy flick of his wrist. "I don't have a gun. Here, I'll teach you how to look." Liam's grip was strong around Ludovic's wrist, and he directed Ludovic's hands to his sides, to his thighs and hips—pressing Ludovic's hands hard against Liam's clothes and skin. When Ludovic couldn't feel anything except Liam's warmth and the ripple of subtle muscle, Liam grinned. "See? Completely safe."

Their breath puffed out into the cold in front of them. Ludovic was worried the words on his tongue were going to slip out—something along the lines of _do you want dinner? _or _how have you been?_—but, Liam's hand tightened on his, and Ludovic realized there were other ideas.

* * *

Ludovic kissed exactly the way Leah knew he would.

He was so stupidly sweet about it. His hands were so soft and they rested on Leah's cheek once they were inside. He kissed the way little girls dreamed of Prince Charming kissing. Chaste until otherwise specified. She didn't have enough time for something along those lines, not enough time to leave an imprint at that rate.

Leah shoved Ludovic up against his kitchen wall and nipped at his lower lip. When she pulled away, Ludovic looked…dazed. His hair was in disarray. His pupils were blown. She thought, maybe naively, that kissing him would take the edge off, would make the attraction stop, if only temporarily, but it certainly made it worse. Ludovic kept looking at her, as though Leah had reinvented the wheel, had completely shifted his world. He gave her one of his soft Prince-Charming kisses.

"Stay," Ludovic's deep voice was already starting to roughen. Leah took a breath. "Stay, please."

She forced her knife-edge smile and shook her head. "Time's ticking, Fitz. I have to run." His hand tightened around her wrist.

She left before she could reminisce on what had occurred.

* * *

The bed was uncomfortable. It was too homely, too honest, and too comfortable. The open window did nothing to dispel the weight of the silence. Ludovic kept his eyes closed. His hands were tightly wound into the sheets. His breath left his nose in quick huffs. His thoughts calmed. The cold licked at his clammy face. Faint shadows roosted beneath his lashes. He grumbled quietly and rolled over to sit up. He rubbed his face roughly; his stubble agitated his raw palms. Something eerily similar to an epiphany hung in the air, and he didn't need it. He didn't want something miraculous to show up and ruin his night.

When he finally glanced at the clock, it was three-thirty on Monday morning, and he was alone. He shook his head. When a quiet bump made his head tilt, he muttered a call for the vagabond, Liam. His legs swung over the bed. His voice was rough with sleep; he doubted a cup of tea wouldn't fix it. "Liam?" He tried again, louder.

The house was empty, and everything in Effingham was quiet.

Ludovic was still alone.

* * *

Leah's leg bounced. It had only been three months since her weekend away from their game. It had been three months, and she'd taken every other weekend off to go back and see Ludovic, even for a span of ten minutes. She waited, eyes on the small crowd that populated the bar. Obidias was somewhere in here; she imagined he was in another corner, maybe the one opposite to her. They had foregone the disguise this time; instead, she played up the feminine traits, added a blush to her cheeks, and curled her hair. Obidias's fingers tapped against the wooden tabletop. _Make a break for it, back to Ravenwood. _Leah was on the move when Obidias's tapping cut off, and a grisly man from the bar bumped into her. She didn't pay the man mind, past muttering a sarcastic quip under her breath.

The door began to swing shut, and she figured today was a bad day, another dead end. A bullet nicked the doorjamb and tore the skin on her knuckles. As she noticed the spreading warmth in her shoulder, she knew today was different.

* * *

Rule number three of being a professional criminal: Don't let anyone see you weak.

Macon had time to tell them not to go to any of the safe houses, not to bother the Kents, the quasi-doctors. Leah figured it counted as a blessing as she clutched her shoulder, and smashed the window to a car hidden in an alley. She sped down the highway to the tune of silence—the radio wouldn't give her much more than static—and continued trading cars and looking over her shoulder even when the moon started to sink, even when the clock struck three and the rogue Cubi bar was miles from her.

She drove until she doubled over the steering wheel, swallowing down the urge to vomit. Then, she stumbled out of the car, took a deep breath, shot a glance to the moon staring down on her, muttered a muted prayer, and gave in. She Traveled to Ludovic's and fell against the porch rail. She huffed quietly and braced herself before she pounded on Ludovic's door with her right hand.

It was freezing, of course; Ludovic lived in the middle of nowhere. Leah wondered if the shack by the river was a better alternative. Leah kicked at the door, the door that had locks, now, because Leah suggested it. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Ludovic was probably calling the cops right now. Leah slid to the floor, dug into her pockets, and grabbed a needle and black thread. She peeled back the blood-soaked fabric of her jacket, winced at the jarring it caused. With steady hands, she sewed the wound shut. She kept her left hand close to her chest, and she remembered thinking if the cops did show up, at least she'd get to a hospital that had heating. She leaned back against the door and tried to stay awake.

She lasted for two minutes before she fell unconscious.

* * *

Ludovic didn't normally stay for the choir and band concerts, but it was the big holiday one and he didn't mind the Christmas music. When he saw a car in his driveway, he berated himself at how badly he hoped it was Liam. Ludovic closed the door slowly, and that was when he saw a shadow on his door.

"Liam?" The form didn't respond. Ludovic noticed the stillness.

He broke out into a run.


	2. Chapter 2

The end of this quick insight. Maybe it was enjoyed? Maybe not? I had fun writing in a different style, that's for sure.

All disclaimers apply.

* * *

Leah had almost died before. She'd fallen off the pier, a chase gone awry, and Macon had been the one to pull her out of the water and give her CPR. Leah hadn't seen any bright lights; she didn't get a sudden inspiration and clarity about what life meant. One minute she was asleep, the next she was coughing up water onto Macon's shoes.

This time, she first felt warm, which either meant she was safe or was dying of hypothermia. When she moved her right pinky finger, she felt cloth. Her clothes were gone; whoever was housing her had given her another shirt. Leah's eyes tightened. _Act asleep. Act asleep. See if you can figure out where you are._ She focused on regulating her breathing, even as her muscles protested the movement. She didn't cry or utter a noise, but she did tighten her right hand—only after realizing her left did, in fact, still feel as though it had been disconnected from her body—and struggled to remember what happened.

There was a mistake. Their quarry had outsmarted them. A man had hit her shoulder with a blade; another nearly hit her ear. And…and she had fallen against Ludovic's porch, against his door. That was the extent of it, other than the lingering thought of sewing her shoulder together.

Her eyes opened too quickly. She attempted to stand, her vision swam and blurred, and the world tilted dangerously. "Shh, shh—calm down, you're safe." Ludovic's hand, his soft, not-calloused hand, pressed against Leah's chest, just under her breasts. "Take it easy, okay?"

There was an older man behind him; she recognized the form vaguely, but her vision refused to focus. Leah resisted the push towards the couch. Ludovic must have seen him staring at the blurry shape over his shoulder. "This is Mr. Kent. He's a friend of mine; he fixed you up." Leah blinked. "Kid, you need to rest or you're going to pull out your stitches."

Leah couldn't put up a fight against the next push, only because of the way Ludovic's voice cracked. She kept her right hand poised. She coughed roughly, enough to make Ludovic rush to the kitchen and leave her with Mister Kent. She blinked; her eyes finally focused enough to see her surroundings. She was in Ludovic's room, she assumed. There were books stacked on the nightstands, on the floor. A candle flickered beneath a lamp. She quickly made note of how many windows were there, how far the door was, and how long it would take her to flee. "Thank you, Barclay." Leah felt naked, not only because she was clothed in another man's t-shirt. She wanted to ask where her things were, how Ravenwood had faired—but Barclay was simply staring at her. She smiled, making sure to keep all the warmth out of her expression. "Are you going to tell Macon?"

Barclay shook his head sternly. When Ludovic returned, Barclay nudged his shoulder. "I'll be in the kitchen." Barclay left, and Leah cradled a glass of water, but it was a few moments before she took her eyes off the door. Coldness settled in her chest. Her mask had slipped, again, it seemed. When she managed to tear her eyes from the threshold, she met Ludovic's eyes. "Welcome to the masquerade, Fitz."

Ludovic, now that she looked at him, looked like hell. His face was gray, his complexion sallow. He ran his fingers through his hair, his knuckles white as he gripped the bedpost. He looked lost and honestly distressed. Leah couldn't remember the last time someone looked at her like that, like they were trying to convince themselves that she was alive in front of them. Ludovic had lost sleep over it. His gaze made Leah's skin itch, and she glanced away, cleared her throat. "If I was Liam, would this be any better?"

As the words fell off her tongue, they tasted like poison, like regret and half-truths. She watched Ludovic's face twist into a grimace as he shook his head, whispering a soft, choked, "no," before he left the room.

Leah pressed herself into the bed. She was an idiot.

* * *

Barclay was waiting for him in the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee. Ludovic sighed, his hands trembling as Barclay handed him a cup.

"Thank you." Ludovic rubbed his face. "Seriously, thank you for—for answering the phone and coming over. I know it's late and—"

"Consider it a mutually beneficial situation." Barclay managed. "That," he nodded towards Ludovic's room, "is your companion?"

Ludovic did smile at that. Barclay washed his hands in the sink, blood washing down the drain. The five bullets that were in Liam's shoulder and back were in a bowl next to the sink. Ludovic couldn't stop staring at them, those small, misshapen lumps of metal still covered in Liam's blood.

"What do I do?"

Barclay wiped his hands off on his jeans. "Keep her hydrated. Water and orange juice—vitamins and glucose will help the process. Change the bandages at least twice a day and flush it with alcohol." Barclay slipped on his coat and scarf. "Involving the police is your decision." Ludovic flinched, and Barclay pointed to the bullets. "If you decide not to, destroy those." Ludovic nodded.

"Thank you. Good night, Kent." With a curt nod, the man left. Ludovic took a few deep breaths before he went back to the bedroom. The girl who looked like Liam was still awake, her head on the pillow. Ludovic moved to the empty side of the bed and sat on it, kicking off his shoes. The girl nudged him with his good hand.

"Are you going to call the police?" A headache throbbed behind Ludovic's eyes. "A little warning would have been wonderful, Fitz."

"I didn't call them." The kid's shoulders jumped, and Ludovic felt a small pang of guilt. He took a deep breath. "Just focus on getting better, alright?"

The girl nodded. "Alright."

They laid in the dark together until the girl's breathing became deep and even. Once she was asleep, Ludovic threw cold water onto his clammy face. He'd had time to throw not-Liam's things into a separate freezer. A dark, bloodstained pistol was sitting on top of ground meat and a tub of ice cream. He couldn't stop seeing not-Liam's pale body slumped against his porch, blood on the door like he'd been pounding on it, begging Ludovic to let him in. The desperate thread on her shoulder, how she didn't wake up when Ludovic picked her up and dragged her inside. He'd been halfway hysterical when he called Ravenwood, tears falling from his eyes as he sputtered, "I need your help," and, within minutes, a hearse was pulled into the drive, no questions asked.

Ludovic felt like he'd lost fifteen years off his life. He poured himself a glass of water, when his freezer started ringing. He opened it to see the girl's phone flashing. The screen simply illuminated a blocked number. Ludovic told himself to be smart about it, to not let his anger at someone who let this happen to not-Liam get to him. Hell, whoever it was could be directly responsible or some sort of…actual criminal who would kill Ludovic.

But he wasn't being smart, not when he grabbed the phone and swiped across the screen to accept the call, pressing the phone to his ear. "Where did you run off to?"

"Who is this?" The phone case creaked in his grip. "Who the hell is this?"

"I could ask the same of you." The man took a breath. "Why didn't Leah answer the phone?"

Ludovic thought of not-Liam's frail body in bed, how torn up her left hand was—and the five bullets still in Ludovic's kitchen. "She can't talk to you right now."

The silence on the other end lasted for a while, and the man's voice rose in pitch. "Should I come to procure her? I would leave a healthy sum for your care—"

Ludovic hung up and threw the phone on the other side of the room; the battery broke apart from it. His hand stung, and Ludovic looked down to see that he'd broken his glass, some shards sticking out of his palm.

He quietly picked them out, running his hand under cold water.

* * *

When Leah woke she felt like she'd hit a truck, but her vision didn't swim and ebb, which was a victory. She sat up and grimaced at how the stitches pulled in her skin. Another shirt was laid out on the bed, just to the right of her feet. Pulling it on caused pain to wince up her arm and brought her attention to the pink gingham Band-Aid pressed against her upper arm. _Ludovic. _She sighed, tugged the shirt down, and tied it tighter with a hairband.

"Fitz?" Leah looked out the window. The sun was up, but not bright behind the thick blanket of clouds. Leah needed to get oriented, a clock, a phone, email—anything. She stumbled down the hall, her legs aching as she took steps closer to the kitchen. She found Fitzwilliam slumped over in a chair, resting his head in his arms on the table. She slid her foot back, then forward. She took a deep breath, ignored the wince in her chest. Then, she shook Ludovic's shoulder, her heart constricting tightly in her chest when his eyes fluttered open.

Leah wasn't expecting to be kissed. Ludovic looked like he'd slept for about five minutes in the past two days with dried tears and bags under his eyes, and Leah felt terrible, probably looked worse. Hell, he didn't even know who she was. For a few moments it didn't matter. They were making out in the kitchen, grasping at each other. Ludovic pulled Leah into his lap. It felt desperate, like how Leah felt, torn and rough around the edges and simply instinctive. It felt like Ludovic wanted for her to be as close as possible. Ludovic grabbed Leah's shoulder and Leah flinched, accidentally biting Ludovic's lip. "Ah, hell—"

Ludovic's fingers twitched against her hip, his other hand jerking away from her shoulder. "I'm so sorry—" Ludovic stood, lifting Leah effortlessly and sitting her on the table. Leah flailed a little, grasping for a weapon to defend herself only to realize that she had nothing. She steadied herself with her right hand as Ludovic pushed up her borrowed shirt and carefully changed her bandages. Leah didn't flinch once Ludovic found the alcohol and swiped it over the wounds. Ludovic's gaze was intent, every movement smooth and focused on Leah. It made her squirm. She enjoyed blending into the background; hell, it was a part of her job to blend in, to go unnoticed. Ludovic noticed everything.

The next step was his hand, which looked a lot worse. She couldn't restrain a hiss of pain when he tugged on the bandages, and she closed her eyes tightly when rubbing alcohol washed over the raw skin and scabs.

As Ludovic put on fresh gauze he kissed Leah's nose. "Sorry if I was…harsh last night." Ludovic smiled despite the dark circles under his eyes. "It was just a shock, to see you—I thought you were..."

Leah forced herself to grin, her right hand reaching out so he could pinch Ludovic's face until he smiled, too. "Well, I'm not." Gods, even though he looked exhausted, he was a handsome man when he smiled, even with the scar.

"You're still too skinny, kid."

* * *

For a Sunday, Ludovic couldn't complain, even if not-Liam was lying against his shoulder, snoring quietly. Ludovic tried not to think about how tomorrow he'd have to go back to school and not look haggard. Instead, he kissed not-Liam's smooth cheek, and she jerked awake. Ludovic opened his mouth to apologize, but

Leah covered it with her right hand. She brought her lips to Ludovic's ear, and nipped it. "I think someone's here, Fitz."

Ludovic, who hadn't recently been shot and had full mobility of both hands, froze immediately. Leah stood carefully and placed herself between the door and Ludovic. He clamored to stand, Leah waved her hand frantically for him to sit down, but the floorboard creaked. Someone shifted their weight in the other room. She disappeared to the other room quickly, silently closing the door.

"Macon?"

"Leah?" Ludovic's heart chilled at the recognition. A dainty hand gripped the doorframe tightly. The knife fell to the floor. "What's the damage?"

"What?" Ludovic wrapped his arm around Leah's waist. A man dressed sharply with graying hair pointed a gun at him when he urged Leah out into the hall. "Tch, tch, Macon," Leah glanced back at Ludovic. "What's going on?"

"Someone thought it would be a novel idea to keep you from the phone." The man—Macon—drummed his fingers against his gun. Macon lowered his weapon, then, tossed it to the counter. "Is this your weekend, Leah?"

Leah crossed her arms, minding her hand. "He's _your_ client."

Macon glanced at Ludovic, then at Leah. "Meet me in Vienna." Macon, the mysterious figure, traipsed out of Ludovic's house.

Ludovic wasn't sure when his world became so thoroughly insane.

* * *

It was only quiet when Ludovic wasn't around. Leah was used to traffic, police sirens, and about a thousand things to do. It was quiet enough for Leah's ears to start ringing, and there was nothing outside but trees. She put together her phone, cleaned her pistol, and exercised her hand all within the first hour she was awake.

Leah was packed, had a car in a matter of seconds, and was on the highway soon enough. The ringing in her ears stopped when she turned on the radio, the one that finally found a signal, and seeing another car on the road made her chest relax; it was proof that civilization was out there.

It had been a few hours of driving and that was when Leah passed a school bus. Her grip on the wheel faltered; she had to pull over. She closed her eyes, pressed her right hand to them because she couldn't get rid of the image of Ludovic's idiotic face—Ludovic Fitzwilliam's crushed expression. She didn't have to imagine that was the way he would look when he made it home, and Leah had vanished.

She turned around, and, when he got back to Fitz's house, he was already home. Leah opened the door quickly. Ludovic was in the kitchen, his bag still in his hands, and Leah braced herself. Ludovic turned on his heels, and Leah wanted to close her eyes, she shouldn't have come back, she should have just gone back to Ravenwood, should have left this boondocks behind—

"What do you want for dinner?"

He never asked where Leah disappeared to, or when she was going to leave. Somehow that was a million times worse.

* * *

Rule number four of being a professional criminal: Don't fall in love. It causes too many messes.

As Ludovic slept easily next to her, Leah had to admit that this wasn't a regrettable life. Staying with Ludovic, making him laugh, and killing his truck was a good life. Leah could do it—she'd keep Ludovic happy stupid jokes and cuddling when he wanted to.

But, if Leah was being honest, she couldn't do much when it came to legal professions. She was fantastic with Cajon food and had a knack for shooting. There weren't a lot of openings for her when it came to making an "honest" living.

Leah sat up, rubbing her eyes with her right hand. She needed air—she needed Spanish moss and smoke to clear her head. Gods, what was she doing? Playing housewife with a dorky teacher who liked to cook for her—Jesus, whom was she kidding?

Leah swung her feet out of bed quietly. She had done it a million times, slipping away into the night without making a sound. She pulled on pants, grimacing at the strain on her arm. She'd have to shower later; right now, she had to get the hell away from Ludovic. She was opening the door to the bedroom when the sheets rustled.

"This is…this is something, right?" Leah's grip tightened on the doorknob. "I mean, I get it, you're job isn't exactly conventional or legal." Leah couldn't breathe, she had to get out—but Ludovic wouldn't stop, his voice delicate in the dark. "You keep coming back, Leah. That…has to mean something to you."

Leah wanted to scream that it didn't—she told herself to go for the throat, to cut Ludovic so deep with words that he'd never love the same way again.

But she couldn't.

Leah slammed the door behind her, struggling to breathe as she ran to her car, threw her bag in the back, and tore down the dirt road.

* * *

Barclay understood why people enjoyed Effingham, why certain people were attracted to the small-town culture. He was attracted to the town less than most—the only reason he stayed was for his wife and the house his parents left them—but sometimes it got to be a little much. He didn't enjoy how he heard about Ludovic about fifteen times a day because countless people were _concerned_ about him. He knew better. Countless people were curious, but not concerned.

He wheeled his shopping cart down to the milk aisle and came to a stop, noticing the small crowd. He elbowed his way to the front; he wasn't about to become a psycho that ate cereal without milk because of a measly little cluster of people—

But then he saw Ludovic. People were gathered because Ludovic was there, glassy-eyed, staring at the two-percent milk. He saw how gray his skin was, and the goose bumps that had spread across his neck and cheeks.

"Shoo!" Barclay steered the crowd away. The gawkers dispersed with a few uncomfortable chuckles. As soon as the last back had turned, he shook Ludovic. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ludovic shuddered, blinked slowly. "What?"

His skin felt like ice. He pressed his hand against Ludovic's forehead, not caring when Ludovic slapped it away. "How long have you been standing here?"

Ludovic shook his head, rubbed his eyes. "Not long. Just…not long." Ludovic took a look at Barclay, before pawing at his face. "Do I look that bad?" Barclay huffed.

"No. Worse. Come on; get your milk. I'm making you dinner."

Barclay liked Ludovic. Unlike the rest of the town, he didn't need to bury himself in gossip to feel secure. He never asked questions that weren't necessary, and he still sent thank-you cards. He was a decent person.

When Ludovic called him in tears, he didn't ask questions. He drove over as fast as he could and dug five bullets out of a kid's shoulder. A kid that Ludovic looked at as though he was something special. This time, Barclay took Ludovic home, sat him down in his kitchen, and made his mother's potato-leek soup from a recipe card he dug out of a cupboard. He sliced up sourdough for toast. Delphine would have had a fit if he had Ludovic to the Kent household, he had no doubt.

Halfway through his first bowl of soup, Ludovic spoke. "I'm an idiot."

"Emotionally particular." Barclay poured himself a mug of coffee. "Too trusting of certain people. But other than that, you're good." Barclay was rooted deep enough in the town to know that Janine, the English teacher, had the biggest crush on Ludovic. He kept being aloof and polite, even though it would have been the easiest date for him to land. He liked his privacy, and Barclay respected that.

However, Barclay figured being knuckle-deep in a young woman's shoulder earned him a few questions. "What happened?"

Over soup and coffee, Ludovic told him everything with a crooked smile. The break-in, how Ludovic made the bandit dinner, the crazy, sporadic weekends that followed, and how he had really been a she. It all seemed like something out of a film. Of all the people to do something insane, Barclay would never include Ludovic (cardigan loving and Ford enthusiast Ludovic) in the list.

Barclay took even breaths, and said the first thing to come to mind. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to feed strays, Ludovic?"

Ludovic's eyes widened briefly before he laughed, loud and full. It put color back in his cheeks.

Barclay counted it as a victory.

* * *

Macon liked to think he was in tune with his team.

He used to believe that friendship didn't exist in crime, but he was too old to be paranoid. _Lucille's_ was going well enough; the Ravenwood name was now somewhat known. They were feared and respected, even Leah.

Leah, who was in the library, flipped through bullet and equipment orders. The day was pretty perfect. The last couple of months had been pretty great. The jobs kept coming and the hauls were large enough to give leeway.

Macon twirled a pen between his fingers. Still, there was an underlying tension. He got up and sauntered down the hall, blinking to have his eyes adjust as Leah sat on the couch, ledger in hand. Macon slumped next to her. "You haven't taken a weekend in a while."

Her expression flickered out for a millisecond; if Macon had blinked, he would have missed the downward pull of her lips and how the corner of her eyes tightened for a moment. Leah shrugged with an easy-going smile.

"Love isn't our game, Macon."

It wasn't that Leah wasn't performing well. If anything, she had been going above and beyond in the line of duty. But when Leah thought no one was looking she'd get these looks that made shadows look darker and her skin paler. Macon resolved no one was allowed to be a cynical old man except himself.

Macon gently took the ledger out of Leah's hands, setting it down on the table. Down the hall, Lena giggled and Obidias huffed. Macon rubbed his eyes briefly.

"I want _Lucille's _to be happy." He glanced at her eyes. "Mind you, you were some degree of happy for a while, but it's fine if you want to leave. I'm won't blame you, Leah."

She didn't bother hiding her distress; her dark eyes flashed.

"Macon, wait, I don't know what, I love it here, nothing else, no other gig even compares—"

"I know." Macon flashed a smile and nudged Leah lightly. "There's life away from ledgers and laws, though." Leah hadn't moved, her eyes were locked with Macon's. "He seemed decent, your weekend guy."

Leah's breaths started to come in short bursts, and she looked away with a quiet laugh, blinking rapidly. "I don't… he doesn't…" Her eyes were wet with panic.

"Stay if you want to. Leave if you would rather. I'm simply saying, if you wanted to try the love card with him, I'm won't stop you. Don't make the mistakes I made, Leah." Her lower lip trembled in a wobbly smile, and it caused Macon's heart to tremble. "You're young. Take a risk and see what happens, hm?"

Leah's chest heaved, and she covered his eyes, her shoulders jerking up quietly. Macon pulled her forward before he though otherwise, not because he was her employer, but because siblings should have more reasons to embrace. Leah gripped Macon's shirt tightly. She only held on for about two minutes, four shivering inhales, before she pushed herself away.

She wiped her cheek and walked to the bathroom without a word. Macon let his head fall back against the couch. Sometimes, in moments like this, he'd thank God he didn't have any kids—but, then, Lena would scrape her knee on the sidewalk, or he'd have a heart-to-heart with Leah, and Macon realized he might have adopted a slew of children without realizing it.

* * *

Winter thawed into spring. Lichen and clovers peeked out through the snow and the smell of fresh, wet earth was on every breeze. Ludovic walked along the edge of his property, picking up broken branches.

Barclay had suggested planting peonies, but Ludovic was thinking jasmine, maybe bluebells. He dumped his branches into a pile, making his way over the hill and walking down the path to his house. Ludovic wondered about changing up his curriculum, to keep the kids fresh on the information. He had some new paints being delivered to give the kitchen a new color.

He pushed through some low-hanging tree branches, his boots crunching on the pebbles that made up his driveway. He had to block out the muted sunlight briefly, squinting—and, then, he saw a blur of navy.

As his eyes adjusted, his heart beat faster and louder—until it was all he could hear. Leah had her back to him, hands in her pockets, taking a deep breath and looking at Ludovic's house. Her shoulders were relaxed, and she appeared to have filled out somewhat; she had a gleam of happiness and a bit of fat on her, for once.

Leah turned.

He grinned.


End file.
